


Classical conditioning

by savaged



Series: dog owners [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, i'm just really invested in their wreck of infatuation, mention of mental and psychological issues, set between the second & third season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savaged/pseuds/savaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a stray shows up at Hannibal's door, looking for one of his lost dogs.</p><p>-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Classical conditioning

 

 

The scratching sound makes him tilt his head up from the cooking books. They're so antique the letters are small and mixed with the yellowish background, but they possess all the knowledge given cook to cook throughout a dozen generations. Hannibal needs complete focus to understand the antique english -sometimes mingled with french- and prepare a new dish. All that focus is gone thanks to an obnoxious non-stop scratching sound coming from the outside of the house.

Throwing his apron away and rolling down his cuffs, he hides the books in a cupboard far from the reach of the average-statured person, and sighs. The scratching's getting louder.

In the middle of the night, given by where he lives, silence's usually louder. Darkness' bigger too, eating up the whole landscape and its shadows, but Hannibal has become used to it the way a beast easily adapts and blends to its surroundings -he opens the door fearless, ready to face the noisy distraction -ready to mute it at once.

A _dog_. The ears of a big sized mongrel go back as its eyes widen, goggling at Hannibal from the ground. It doesn't have a collar, nor bad health but it looks desperate, scared, lost and _old_ , and Hannibal glares at it trying to demonstrate dominance. Of course it doesn't work; he goes back to the kitchen to fetch a piece of pork and throws it away from his porsche, so the mongrel follows, leaving the house's alone.

It makes it worse. As soon as Hannibal reopens his cooking books and flips the first pages, the scratching sound restarts. He lays the apron down on the kitchen's counter, straightens his back and hastens towards the door.

"I'd be quiet pleased to be your host, furry friend, but I'm _busy_ ," he nods to the shrieking dog. It only moves its head ignoring Hannibal's words, licking its paw and laying its chin upon Hannibal's foot. "Are you tired?" It blinks. Hannibal inspects it; the dog stands up wobbly and squeezes between Hannibal's legs, stumbling inside the house. It finds a spot on the wooden floor next to a seat and collapses, eyes still open looking at Hannibal. He cocks an eyebrow.

"I have a very reliable acquaintance who'll take care of you. We'll go to him tomorrow, _c'est_   _entendu_?"

 

Hannibal spies on the dog before returning to his cooking tasks. It stays down. Will will _love_ it, he thinks, silent and easy going. It looks old and drags one of its legs as it walks, lulled by the inevitable proximity of death. A stray, most likely.

Hannibal has never eaten dog; he's been told it tastes like a cross between beef and mutton, excellent if well cooked- Well, _anything_ can taste excellent if well cooked. It's no surprise his food tastes _excellent_. He wonders if the mongrel might find it excellent too- He could make use of a pet. With that last unlikely thought, he tidies up his kitchen and leaves to bed, keeping cautious eyes on his sleepy guest as he walks past.

 

 

The clock strikes 3am and the knocking won't stop. His door's a magnet for strays tonight- Hannibal rolls his eyes blankly through a haze of fatigue and turns on a lamp before strolling to the door.

The knocking's still loud and fast by the time he stands in front of it. The mongrel's up, too, behind him and breathing through its mouth, drooling the floor. Seems like it's smiling at Hannibal. The man furrows his eyebrows at it as well as at the person by his door while opening. When he sees him, he gasps.

"Hannibal, thank God you're up. I got a call from your neighbors, is she here?"

"Who's _she_?" Hannibal's face tightens. He's wearing only boxer briefs and a displeased expression, intimidating along the bare toned muscles of his arms. Will unwinds.

"Is that her?" he peaks behind Hannibal, "that's her! Why are you hiding my dog? I've been looking for her the whole day..."

" _Your_ dog," Hannibal repeats, getting pushed aside and watching Will step into his house uninvited to throw himself on the ground and pet the mongrel. It licks its owner's hands frantically and Will turns to him eventually, with a smile.

"She must have tracked your scent from home."

Hannibal isn't sure what's he supposed to say. 'Impressive'? That's an understatement. And a lie. Hannibal trusts the dog to know where he hides the meat, now it's here.

He's killed other's people animals for messing around his porsche- He won't tell Will that. Much less give the idea of killing his dog. "She caught me in a busy moment and wouldn't let go of my door."

"Yeah! A persistent one, aren't you," Will ruffles the mongrel's head, "just like someone I know," he shoots a glance towards Hannibal. The blonde man turns to latch the door.

 

-

 

Will washes his hands in the bathroom. The water goes down dirty against the white marble of the sink; it smells of roses and Hannibal, of the soap he uses to shower whenever Will stays for the night. The short man blushes feeling it, a response proper of Pavlov's dog, and shoots his eyes up when a figure moves on the mirror's reflection. Hannibal's been watching him.

"Do you not sleep, Will?" His eyebrows are raised in a condescending look, "we can consider therapy for your sleep impediments, if that's what's troubling you."

"No, I just- I couldn't stop thinking about missing one of them, I was worried..." He gets emotional when speaking of his pets. Hannibal finds it quirky, and irritating, and bothersome as hell. And _adorable_."... how she could be hurt by a car or, or even worse. Makes me restless, nauseous."

"But now you've found her and that doesn't seem to give you much peace. You didn't turn back home to rest. Is there something stopping you?"

Will shrugs. "I was thinking of spending the night with my _boyfriend_ , now that I'm here. You don't have to lowkey send me back home, you know. Just say the words." Hannibal opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. Will's amused. "You seem surprised that I want to stay? I mean, I do normal people stuff, too. Sometimes."

He nudges the cannibal teasingly lying against the bathroom's door; he smiles. Will puts the palm of his hands against his stomach. The muscles under his fingerprints build tension. Will's looking up at him.

"Am I allowed to stay?"

He gets on the tip of his feet to press his lips against the corner of Hannibal's mouth. The blonde man smirks and steps back, putting the hands on him away, squeezing softly before letting them go.

 

Will knows- Hannibal won't ever believe him; that what he feels for him isn't one of his mental issues. And he's kind of right, if Will had a little bit left of reason in his head it'd tell him to run away as fast as he can. And he's kind of wrong, too, because that little bit of reason's what telling him to stay.

Like a dog running away reaching out for affection elsewhere- the owner will look out for it, no matter his fondness. It's an instinct, a need to reclaim for his property.

There hasn't been a single time Will has achieved an escape. The thought is thrilling and makes Hannibal's blood turn cold, that this stray keeps coming back, and when he turns Will's there, stripping and sliding into the silky sheets of his bed like he already knows his place. It also makes his blood run hot, makes it boil. He won't mention the strange feeling -that's not their deal.

And he doesn't need to question Will's mental health. Because he's been the one to shape it, to twist it, to get lost in the labyrinth in which he's played the role of architect. And he enjoys every minute of it -the scratches, the bites, the pain, because this is his element, his territory; his animal nature, shared with another trained beast.

He gazes at Will's eyes, and it gazes back.

 


End file.
